


You Can't Handle the Truth

by peenw0lf



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: derek has a lot bottled up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:49:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peenw0lf/pseuds/peenw0lf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Venting only works when someone listens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Handle the Truth

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot headphones on the bus today and the only thing keeping me from choking the obnoxious middle schoolers with the flat rims and skater shoes was writing

_To Stiles: is your father home?_  
  
 _From Stiles: no he has that thing until monday_

_To Stiles: can i come ovr_

It was a simple question, but the fact it came from Derek made something twist in Stiles' gut. Derek never asked, he just came unannounced.

_From Stiles: yeah ru ok??_

The reply he gets is Derek tumbling through his window. 

Alright.

"Put headphones in, blast some music, watch TV downstairs, _anything_ just make sure you can't hear me," Derek orders between grinding teeth. 

"Hello to you too," Stiles says sarcastically. He looks at the way Derek is breathing; heavy, and he's covered in a layer of sweat. 

"Dude, you look like shit. Are you okay?" 

"I'm fff-" The 'f' is drawn out, but not purposely, it seems. He slams his hand against the desk (thankfully didn't break it). "Fuck!" he swears. 

"What happened?" Stiles asks. 

"Truth serum. Stop asking questions!" demands the wolf, eyes flashing red. 

Stiles mutters a "fine" and sits down in the chair and turns on his iPod. 

Eight songs later, he turns back to Derek who is sitting stiffly on the bed, shaking, and talking quietly to himself. 

"How'd it happen?" he asks, taking his earbuds out. 

Derek stops mid-mutter. "Witch." 

Figures. 

"Do you know anything about the spell?" 

"No." 

Great. 

"Want me to call Deaton?" 

"Yes," he answers like it physically pains him. 

Stiles stands up with phone in hand and Derek goes back to muttering to himself, a wide range of emotions flickering over his face. 

"Okay I'm just going to..." he trails off, pointing to the door.

About 20 minutes later, Stiles trudges back into his room. Derek is in the same position he had left him, but one of his hands - claws -are in one if his thighs. 

"Derek, stop. You're hurting yourself." 

The wolf snorts. 

"And you're going to get blood all over my sheets," he adds. "Anyway, Deaton said it will wear off in a few hours. It- nevermind." 

"It what." 

Derek obviously needs to revisit punctuation rules. 

"Nothing, it's nothing." 

Cue red eyes. 

"Alright fine. Deaton thinks it was supposed to be an interrogation spell. The witches cast it on you to find about your pack and territory. But," he took a breath, "he thinks it didn't work as intended because you have a lot built up inside you flooding your subconscious. So instead of spilling pack business you're reciting pages from your diary," he rushes out. 

"I don't have a diary." 

"Look, you're missing the point," Stiles says, taking a seat next to him on the bed. "You can't keep things bottled up. Trust me. I would know. And I'm going to sit here until you start venting because talking to no one doesn't do jack squat." 

"You're not my therapist." 

"No, but I am pack." 

Derek took in a shaky breath. He starts off quiet, talking about little things he did when he was young ("I cheated on a spelling test in fourth grade"). As he got closer and closer to the present his voice got louder, almost as if he wants Stiles to hear it. _Needs_ Stiles to hear it. 

"... And there was no cure. For Scott, I mean. I lied. That was the only way he would help me," he finishes. 

Silence. 

"That's all you got?" 

"What else do you want Stiles?"

"There's something you're not telling me. Something big, I can see it eating you up."

"I told you every little thing that has haunted me since I was a _pup_ ," Derek explodes. "You want to hear me say I killed my family? Huh? Yeah I did. I killed my family. I dated Kate Argent and killed my family. I dated a hunter and she burned down my house. It is my fault they died. Is that what you want to hear?" His claws digging deeper into his own thigh with every word. 

"You didn't kill them," Stiles says quietly. 

"If they were lies, I wouldn't be able to say them." 

Well, shit. 

"Ever hear the saying, 'if you keep saying it, it will eventually become true'? You keep telling yourself you did it, and you started to believe it. It's all up here," he taps Derek's head. "You didn't kill them." 

"How do you know?" the wolf asks, sounding defeated. 

"Did you know Kate was a hunter?" 

A quiet "no" slipped out of the other's mouth. 

"Did you know of her plans?" 

"No but-" Stiles held a finger up to Derek's lips. 

"Did you light the match?" 

Derek shook his head. 

"Is it your fault?" 

"No," he finally says aloud. 

"No," Stiles echoes with a small smile. 

"I didn't kill them," Derek can't help but say. 

"You didn't kill them," assures Stiles. 

If Derek starts sobbing into the crook of Stiles neck, fist clutching the front of his red hoodie like a lifeline, chanting "it's not my fault" over and over until he lost his voice, no one will talk about it.

Eventually, the two rearranged themselves so they were laying on the bed; Stiles with a hand around Derek's neck absent-mindedly massaging the nape of it, legs intertwined. Derek was curled into the younger boy, his nose pressed up against his throat, hand still fisted in the hoodie, and arm thrown across Stiles' waist.

"I love you" somehow slips out of his mouth, but Stiles wasn't awake to hear it.


End file.
